around 1270 words.
contains: fred&george.
comments cherished.
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just for now
by
selfsame.
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"just for now," one of us always gasps out, right before something happens, right before his hand slides up my shirt or before I trap him in the hallway and pull him furtively into our room. usually I'm the one who says it, remembers to say it in time. "only now, this once, yeah? then not for a while, okay?"
"yeah," he always agrees quickly, already fumbling beneath my robes in an attempt to get at my bare skin.
we never touch lips or anything like that; this sort of playing about is only just for now. it's because we're adolescent boys who put on cocky facades in front of girls but who couldn't get up the courage to touch any of them if our lives depended on it. it's because we think about these things much too late at night, about this kind of closeness and passion, but we know we're too young for that, too young for romance, and we know, despite what our bodies tell us, that intimacy is something that should go along with love, and we're too young for love, still too young for love. it's because all we have is each other, and Fred is all that's there for me at times like these, and I'm all that's there for him. it's only just for now, a little while, only now.
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a foot kicks me under the table and I glance up quickly to see Fred giving me a pointed look over his plate. I drop my fork and push away my dish.
"not hungry," I say. "I'm done."
"that's all you'll eat, George? and you too, Fred?" Mum drops her rag and puts her hands on her hips, shaking her head in desperation, always a picture of resigned concern when we two are involved. "no wonder you boys are so thin, you're like reeds. it's ridiculous, you should eat more. have another few bites, boys, please?"
Fred slides his arm around her waist and gives her a quick kiss on the cheek as he passes, as though apologizing for the jutting prominence of the bones in his wrists and collarbone, apologizing for the swelling of mine, too.
"sorry, Mum, we've got to study. only got a week left until term starts, don't we? it's going to be our third year, and we've got to keep our grades up this time."
"oh, all right, all right, but I expect you two to make up for this at supper."
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when I'm the one bearing him over backwards and crouching over him on a sofa I feel out of character, I feel like I should be in his place and he in mine, but at the same time I want to be the one in control: I want to feel like I'm not a victim to this impossible, hormonal passion, but part of the power behind it.
at first his hands grip my shoulders like claws, his back making a loud, echoing thump against the wall as I press him against it. "just for now, okay?" he manages into my ear as I start to nuzzle at his throat, my hands working at the buttons of his jeans. "a few minutes, then we've got to get back downstairs, don't want Ron or Ginny to hear."
"only for now," I agree fervently, my voice staggered somewhat by my quickening breath.
as my body flattens his against the wall, his hands release my shoulders and start racing about, his fingers dancing like the legs of a spider, traveling up into my hair, down my back, over the indentation of my spine. his thumb bumps the outer shell of my ear as he tries to grasp at my hair; his fingers stumble over a belt loop as they make their way across my hip. he tilts his head back and his hair, ginger like mine, falls like a shagged curtain away from his face, his throat becoming a curve that faces me, the protrusion halfway down it quivering sporadically. his hands come to rest on my hips, one on each side of me, tightening as before until I'm sure his fingernails leave marks on my skin, even through my jeans.
"just for now," he says again, "yeah?"
my forehead brushes against his shoulder for just a moment, when I focus my attention downwards to concentrate, and half-listening, I answer back, nodding my head. "yeah," I mutter back with a fierce determination, "yeah."
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seventh year looms over our heads, and we spend that summer before it begins in relative silence. only when others are around do we hold normal conversations, always including others, never reserving our statements for one another. it's as though the arrival of our last year at school symbolizes something more: a new level of maturity that neither of us has yet grown into. we've gained a few inches, stretched out in some places, firmed up here and there and gotten more defined about the jaw and shoulders— but in a lot of ways we're still thirteen inside, still using tired excuses, still agreeing "just for now" even though it's stretched itself thin, become a scared fib we exchange so we can go on looking one another in the eye without breaking down.
the day before school starts, we sit alone in our room, cross-legged on our beds, next to suitcases we've been packing for the last hour, each waiting for the other to say something, or for Ginny to burst in and tug us out to play a game.
"let's not do it anymore this year, all right?" I say then, and the sound startles both of us in the unusual quiet of our room. "we're too old to be messing about still. it's getting strange."
"yeah," he says, his voice quieter. "I know."
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we've been at Hogwarts three days when Fred stands up suddenly in the middle of study hall and walks out. I look after him, surprised, and I let my worry get the better of me; I make an excuse to Harry and Lee and get up to go after him. the minute I emerge into the hall, his hands grab hold of the front of my robes and he pulls me into a darkened corner beside the entrance to the Great Hall, backing himself into the shadowed, stony nook, his head bowed and his shoulders quivering. he doesn't let go of my robes.
"Fred, what's wrong? what is it?"
his hands loosen their grip now, flutter downwards and locate the space where my robes open up over my sweater and trousers, and he slides his palms inward over my sides. I feel them flatten against my back, and then his fingers tighten again, gathering my sweater and my shirt beneath it in stiff handfuls. his face disappears in the space between my shoulder and neck, and it feels like his entire body, melting into mine, becomes part of me.
I don't know what to do; whether to hold him, whether I should go, whether I've done something— whether or not he feels like I've left an absence, even though I've been alongside him since that day in our room at the Burrow.
"sorry," he mutters, trying to laugh, but the sound corrupts itself, falls away and dies into something between a sigh and a poorly hidden sniffle. "this is stupid."
"you okay?" I ask unsurely, my hands trembling, wanting to stretch around him and hold him in return.
"yeah... just— stay here for a minute," I hear him say, muffled, and his voice is strange. "just for now."
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end.